Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered weak and weary,
Over many a faint and confused volume of International Org,
While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,
As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my dorm room door.
`'Tis just joshua' I muttered, `tapping at my dorm room door -
Only this, and nothing more.'
Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December,
And each separate dying member, from our heads our hair we tore.
Eagerly I wished the morrow; - vainly I had sought to borrow
The textbooks, my lack of knowledge matched by sorrow - sorrow for what is in store
For Langeron, our sole patron, who truly knew what’s in store,
Oh dear Angels! What’s in store?-
Nameless here for evermore.
And the silken sad uncertain rustling of my shower curtain
Thrilled me - filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before;
So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating
`'Tis just Joshua entreating entrance at my dorm room door -
Just late and stressing, cherching food at my dorm room door; -
This it is, and nothing more,'
Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer,
`Sir,' said I, `or Madam, truly your forgiveness I implore;
But the fact is I was at study, or facebooking to clear a muddy,
Head, so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my dorm room door,
That I scarce was sure I heard you' - here I opened wide the door; -
Darkness there, and nothing more.
Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing,
Doubting, dreaming dreams no cuqu-er ever dared to dream before
But the silence was foreboding, and the darkness only stoking,
My fears of the le guardien, “don’t touch Beau, I’ll close my door!”
This I whispered, an echo murmured back the words, `Is your mind not yet sore?’
Merely this and nothing more.
Back into the dorm room turning, all the l’ONG’s I’m learning
Were interrupted by a tapping near my window, louder than before.
`Surely,' said I, `Surely tis just the pigeons ogling;
Let me see then, what thereat is, and this mystery explore -
Let my heart be still a moment and my mind dare implore; -
'Tis Just Macgregor and of course nothing more!'
Open here I flung the glass, In so hoping fresh air to pass,
But in there stepped a smoking rooster undeniably from France.
Not the least of manners made he; not a minute stopped or stayed he;
But, knocking me on shoulder sore, he flew to perch above my chamber door -
Perched upon my best green fleece, just above my chamber door -
Perched, and smoked, and nothing more.
Then this red, feathered bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling,
By the smirking and flirtatious countenance it wore,
`Though thy cheeks be well-defined, thou,' I said, `art sure no friend of mine.
Ghastly smelling and rude rooster wandering from the night club tour -
Tell me what thy lordly name is on this night you stop at my door!'
Quoth the rooster, `Nevermore.'
Much I marvelled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse so plainly,
Though its answer little meaning - little relevancy bore;
For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being
Ever yet was blessed with seeing bird above his chamber door -
Bird or beast above the green fleece upon his chamber door,
With such name as `Nevermore.'
But the rooster, sitting lonely on the fuzzy jumper, it spoke only,
That one word, as if his soul in that one word he did outpour.
Nothing further then he uttered – not even when I buttered -
some vegemite, until I muttered ‘Org’s Int’l, tis what I study for -
On the morrow I will ace thee, as my hopes are highly for.'
Then the bird said, `Nevermore.'
Startled at the stillness broken by reply so cockily spoken,
`Doubtless,' said I, `what it utters is it has only practiced for,
Caught from some unhappy master whom unmerciful disaster
Followed fast and followed faster until his orale examen burden was bore-
Till the dirges of his hope that melancholy burden bore
Of "Never-nevermore."'
But the rooster still beguiling all my sad soul into smiling,
Straight I wheeled my desk chair seat in front of bird and fleece and door;
Then, upon the plastic sitting, I betook myself to fitting
this Fancy unto fancy, where puzzle pieces should belong or-
How this rude and fowl fowl, knew my up and coming score
and what he meant in `Nevermore.'
This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing
To the fowl whose laughing eyes now burned into my bosom's core;
This and more I sat divining, with thoughts of Langeron reclining
into those of fowl, and l’ONG’s who had governed o'er,
All my thoughts were now floating into this fair bird of yore,
Does he know? What’s in store??!
Then, methought, the air grew damper, like our over-flowing hamper,
with the weight of our exam, these thoughts, they scared me to the core.
`Wretch,' I cried, `thy God hath lent thee - by IEP, it has sent thee
Respite - respite and nepenthe from thy studies, for what is in store!
Quaff, oh quaff this kind nepenthe, tell, will I survive what is in store?!'
Quoth the rooster, `Nevermore.'
`Prophet!' said I, `thing of evil! - prophet still, if bird or devil! -
Whether tempter sent, or whether bread has begged thee here ashore,
Desolate yet all undaunted, A study-guide is all I wanted -
On examen eve, I am haunted - tell me truly, I implore -
What of my subject, l’ONU, l’ASEAN? - tell me - tell me, I implore!'
Quoth the rooster, `Nevermore.'
`Prophet!' said I, `thing of evil! - prophet still, if bird or devil!
By that Heaven that bends above us - by that God we both adore -
Tell this soul with sorrow wrought, if dictophone had I bought,
Would the knowledge I had sought, be at ready for what’s in store?-
will I decipher from my notes, enough data for what’s in store??'
Quoth the rooster, `Nevermore.'
`Be that word your sign of leaving, bird or fiend!' I shrieked upheaving -
`Get thee cigarette put out, and fly to where you came before!
Leave no smoke plume as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken!
Leave my internet unbroken! – I need it for internat’l Org!
Wipe thy ash from my notes, and leave me to study as before!'
Quoth the rooster, `Nevermore.'
And the rooster, never flitting, still is smoking, still is sitting
On the now ashy green fleece of yore, just above my dorm room door;
And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon's that is dreaming,
And computer screen light is streaming to throw his shadow on the floor;
And my soul from out that shadow, fore’er belongs to int’l org
Shall be lifted - nevermore!
Here is what this poem would had looked like if Edgar Allen Poe Had lived in the 21st century as a foreign exchange student in France...
Claire Winter Gorton
Song: "Joy it brings" DMB
